


of fathers and fear gas

by TheJediAreGay



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Damian Wayne is Robin, Dick Grayson is Batman, Dick is (kinda) Damian's parent, Gen, Past Child Abuse, Ra's al Ghul was a bad grandfather, and Dick is conflicted about it, because Bruce isn't there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-21 00:41:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30013479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheJediAreGay/pseuds/TheJediAreGay
Summary: A run in with Scarecrow leaves Damian sick with a fever and Dick sick with guiltDick and Dami week day 5: Dami calls Dick "baba" | First "I love you" | "You're not my father" "I'm well aware"
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne
Comments: 3
Kudos: 79
Collections: DickAndDamiWeek2021





	of fathers and fear gas

**Author's Note:**

> I know I'm a few days late on this one, but this fulfills all 3 prompts, so it took me a bit!

It was a long night in Gotham, and it’s been an even longer night in the penthouse.

Dick and Damian had a run in with Scarecrow on what was supposed to be a standard patrol. Damian’s _first_ run in with Scarecrow. And he had no antidote in his belt. It was a mistake on Dick’s part, and a stupid one at that. Bruce would have never made that mistake. But Bruce isn’t here, and Dick is struggling to be half the Batman that his adoptive father was, as well as raising the son that he left behind.

The son that’s currently laying underneath a mountain of blankets, shaking with fever.

They’d both attached their rebreathers the second Scarecrow jumped down from the rafters, but he released so much fear gas that the dilapidated house he had led them to filled up with opaque orange clouds. Scarecrow must have borrowed some tech from Luminus – again, something _Bruce_ would have been prepared for – because Dick and Damian had to fight off at least 15 copies of him, not knowing which one was the real one. Dick knocked out the real Scarecrow after a good twenty minutes of fighting through the mist and all the constructed Scarecrows disappeared. But he was too late. Damian had the rebreather knocked off his face in the fight.

Dick stuck the antidote from his own belt into Damian’s arm with a speed that could rival the Flash, but it did no good. Within minutes, Damian was wide eyed and pale faced, staring at something Dick couldn’t see. He scooped Damian up in his arms and rushed him to the batmobile, strapping him down tightly in his seat just in case he tried to jump out when the hallucinations really set in.

And oh, did they set in.

By the time they got back to the bunker, Damian was screaming. A horrible, guttural sound that was reminiscent of a dying animal. That’s when Dick started to _really_ panic. He didn’t know what to do. The antidote wasn’t working and Damian was still screaming and violently thrashing around and Dick _did not know what to do._ In the back of his head, he knew what steps Bruce would take if he was there. First, would have strapped Damian down to a cot before he could hurt himself or others. Then, he would have given him a sedative that might not knock him out but would calm him down marginally. Finally, he would have taken a blood sample and analyzed it, isolating the toxin and creating an antidote.

But something about hearing Damian’s cries for “Mama” and watching the tears stream down his face made Dick freeze in fear. He’d never seen the kid like this before. All he wanted to do was reach out and hold him; wrap him up tightly in his arms and shield him from whatever it was he was seeing. He wanted to protect his Robin.

Once he got his legs to move again, he finally went about treating Damian. But he’d wasted precious minutes just watching his little brother scream. The antidote took an hour to produce, and he had Damian’s cries to keep him company throughout the entire process.

Dick thought it would be over once he gave Damian the antidote, but it didn’t take long until the fear gas dissipated and a fever began to take its place. It must be a nasty side effect that Scarecrow infused into this strain. Alfred checked Damian thoroughly, and came to the conclusion that the fever isn’t life threatening. But that hasn’t stopped Dick from keeping vigil at Damian’s bedside for the entire night.

Damian lets out a little groan, as if awoken by Dick’s thoughts. Dick leans forward in his chair to brush the boy’s sweat-soaked hair off his forehead. His skin is so hot to the touch that Dick wants to rip his hand away like a child who has accidentally grazed a burning stove.

 _My fault,_ he thinks. _All my fault._

“Ba...,” Damian murmurs, eye half open. “Ba... Baba?”

Dick’s Arabic is a bit rusty, but this is one word he remembers.

That one little word makes his heart clench painfully and he can’t decide whether he likes the feeling or loathes it. For all he knows, Damian doesn’t know where he is or what’s happening and is calling out for Bruce. But he doubts it. Bruce died so soon after Damian came to Gotham, and the two never had the chance to form a bond. Dick has spent more time with Damian than Bruce ever got the chance to. They _have_ formed a bond.

“No, Damian, I’m not Baba,” he sighs.

That word doesn’t belong to him, no matter how _right_ it feels. Bruce is Damian’s father. If he was still alive, he’d be the one sitting by Damian’s bedside right now.

No – if he was still alive, Damian wouldn’t be sick in the first place. Bruce would have been able to prevent this.

Tears fill Damian’s big green eyes as he stares at Dick, weakly holding a hand out towards him.

“Please, Baba,” he rasps. “Please, don’t leave me here.”

Dick takes Damian’s tiny hand in both of his own – and god, how did he never realize just how tiny this boy is? Every night he lets this tiny child suit up and fight by his side, facing horrors that no ten year old should ever witness, should ever even be _aware_ of. Sure, Damian is no normal ten year old, and he’s already seen things that Dick couldn’t even begin to imagine, but that doesn’t mean he should be exposed to _more_. Did Dick make a mistake by choosing Damian as his Robin? Is he a terrible guardian for putting his boy at risk?

 _Not your boy,_ a voice in his head hisses. _Not yours._

Damian himself reminded Dick of that not even a week before. The two got into their usual argument about Damian going off by himself during patrol and turning his comm off. Dick did his utmost to say calm, explaining why either of them going dark on the other was a bad idea. But Damian exploded in that Damian-esque way of his, throwing down his gloves and shouting, _“You’re not my father!”_

The way he said those words, with so much vitriol behind them, made Dick pause. It had no business hurting him the way it did. It was just the truth, spoken by an angry little boy throwing a fit. But it still hurt worse than the beating he’d received from Ivy’s plants earlier that night.

 _“I’m well aware,”_ Dick had responded coolly. Maybe he was purposefully trying to be cruel when he said that. Maybe he was lashing out at a kid to hide his own hurt. It was a mistake, he knows that much. That’s all he seems to do with Damian; make mistakes.

He failed him, and he’s sure he’ll fail him again in the future, but he’ll be damned if he fails him again _tonight_.

“I won’t leave,” he promises.

He reaches a hand up to brush the little boy’s hair out of his face again. The motion brings back memories of being in Damian’s position, slipping in and out of consciousness while Bruce sat by his side and brushed his hair back so gently that Dick would later wonder if he just imagined it. Dick wonders, did Bruce feel the way _he’s_ feeling right now? Did he feel the same fear, the same sadness, the same frustration at himself for letting this happen?

Is this what it feels like to be a father?

He leans down and brushes a kiss across his kid’s warm forehead.

“I love you, Damian,” he whispers. It’s the first time he’s ever said it, and he wants to kick himself for choosing _this_ moment of all moments. He’s just never had the courage to say it before. Damian, for all his secret compassion and quiet desperation to be accepted by others, wouldn’t react well to hearing it. At least, that’s what Dick told himself.

The feverish little boy looks around the room with wild eyes.

“Where are you?” he asks, panic rising in his voice. Dick grabs his hand and gives it a squeeze.

“I’m right here, Dami,” he soothes. “I’m right here and I’m not leaving.”

Damian squeezes back tightly, as if Dick is the only thing keeping him from getting dragged off the bed by his fear-gas-induced demons. His watery eyes flick over to settle on Dick’s face. They’re still distant, unfocused, as if he’s not actually _seeing_. Dick wonders where his mind is right now; here, the bunker, that house with Scarecrow, or somewhere else entirely.

“Don’t let him take me,” Damian begs.

“Who do you think is going to take you?” Dick asks gently.

Damian lets out a sob that wracks his little body, and Dick has to take a few deep breaths to keep from crying himself. Being shot hurts less than watching this. He’d give the world to take Damian’s place in this moment. He deserves to be the one crying and shivering in pain, not his Robin.

“Please, _please_ don’t let Grandfather take me,” Damian cries, tugging hard on Dick’s hand.

Dick’s whole body tenses up like a rubber band, ready to snap. When Damian was still deep in fear gas hallucinations, screaming and crying, Dick heard the word “grandfather” in his garbled speech more than once. His words were so jumbled that Dick can’t be sure, but he thinks he also heard the words “stop” and “please” follow closely after.

He knows that Ra’s made Damian fight every day for the right to live. He knows Ra’s called him an “it” and a failed experiment when he dared to be his own person. He knows Ra’s stole Damian’s childhood before it could even begin.

The old man can count himself lucky that he hasn’t crossed paths with Batman lately.

“I’d _never_ ,” he sputters. “Damian, I’m never going to let him near you ever again.”

By now, Damian’s sobs have slowed down to little hiccups and a quivering lip. Dick reaches out and brushes the tears away. His thumb lingers there, softly stroking Damian’s cheek.

 _He’s too young for this,_ Dick thinks. _He’s too young to know so much pain._

“Th-The chip,” Damian continues. “He’ll use it. He’ll make me kill you.”

The chip in Damian’s spine. The chip neither of them knew about until it was activated. Dick remembers Damian’s cries of “something’s making me do it” while he swung a shovel at him, his body at odds with his mind. Dick should have known it would have a lasting effect on him. He should have checked in with him afterwards to make sure he was _really_ okay. But he didn’t.

He’s not very good at this whole “being a dad” thing.

“The chip is deactivated,” he promises. “You don’t have to worry about it, kiddo.”

Damian shakes his head weakly.

“Not safe, still not safe,” he insists. “‘m never safe.”

Dick’s heart aches for the kid.

“You’ll always be safe here. I promise you.”

“ _No_ ,” Damian repeats. “No, no, _you_ won’t be safe.”

Dick’s mind goes blank, his words of reassurance shoving themselves back down his throat.

“Damian...” he whispers, sounding pained even to his own ears. “You’re not going to hurt me. I know you won’t.”

Damian turns his head away, as if he can’t stand to look at Dick anymore. As if he’s ashamed of _himself_.

“Grandfather...” he starts. Then he pauses for a moment.

“No, it was _Deathstroke_ ,” he corrects himself. “H-He tried to make me do it.”

After the chip was deactivated, Dick visited Slade in his hospital bed. He couldn’t beat him senseless the way he wished he could due to all the assassins guarding his bedside, but he got in one good hit with the IV pole and promised it was only a trailer for what he would dish out to him later. He claimed it was for all the people Slade killed in Blüdhaven, but that wasn’t exactly the truth. It was mostly revenge for Slade using Damian’s body like a marionette doll.

“I didn’t want to do it,” Damian continues. “I didn’t want to hurt you. You have to believe me.”

His voice is rising, growing more hysterical with every word. Dick keeps carding his fingers through the boy’s hair, praying that Bruce’s comforting gesture of choice will calm him down, but Damian won’t stop crying. Dick feels just as lost as he did earlier this same night, watching Damian scream at things that weren’t there.

“Shhhh, it’s okay,” Dick soothes. “I know you didn’t want to hurt me. I don’t blame you.”

“I’m sorry,” Damian chokes out. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, listen to me,” Dick commands, holding the boy’s face in both hands. “You’re a good kid, and _none_ of what Ra’s or Slade or anyone else forced you to do is _your_ fault. Okay?”

Damian shakes his head, a few tears spilling onto his pillow.

“I’m bad. That’s why Father didn’t want me.”

And damn if that doesn’t break Dick’s heart.

He knows Bruce didn’t hate Damian then, and he knows Bruce _definitely_ wouldn’t hate Damian now. But how is Damian supposed to know that? He never really _knew_ him. Dick knew Bruce better than anybody. He knows that if Bruce had been given the chance, he would have loved Damian just as much as Dick does. If they had just had more _time_...

“That’s not true,” Dick insists, but he doesn’t think Damian hears him.

“He didn’t want me,” Damian sobs. “He didn’t want me...”

And with that, something inside Dick snaps. He gets up out of his seat and gets into the bed with Damian, picking him up and plopping him down on his lap. The little boy is like a furnace against his body, but he doesn’t care. He leans against the headboard and just holds him while he sobs. Damian cries the way children often do; messy and uninhibited. His breath hitches between wails and he pauses occasionally to gulp down air. It’s so cruel, Dick thinks, that _this_ is the most childish he’s ever seen this 10 year old child be. This poor kid, who believes no one could ever truly want him.

“ _I_ want you,” Dick murmurs into Damian’s hair.

Damian begins to quiet down, and Dick hopes that he’s actually hearing his words. If he isn’t, Dick can repeat them again tomorrow. He’ll say them every day if that’s what it takes for Damian to believe him. But first, he thinks he’ll tell Damian he loves him while the boy is fully conscious. Maybe over breakfast in the morning. Even if he doesn’t say it back, Dick doesn’t want Damian to ever doubt that he’s loved or wanted. _Ever_.

He presses a kiss against his boy’s head and holds on as tight as he dares.

It should be daybreak soon, he thinks.


End file.
